


deep into my head, underneath my ribs

by brahe



Category: Longmire (TV)
Genre: Coda, Episode: s02e01 Unquiet Mind, Established Relationship, Hospitals, Hypothermia, M/M, Recovery, Search and Rescue, accidentally outing urselves to ur coworker and other fun activities for the hospital, and henry confessing his love without actually saying the words, and i will die on that rock, and kissing, and then...this, henry uses pet names but only for walt and sometimes cady, henrys cadys second dad and has been her whole life sorry i don't make the rules, his guilt really out here like another character, i was just tryna write some walt whump w henry to comfort him, it's a little on the rocks but it's established, it's really just 8k of walt angsting all over the place, no beta but i tried my best, post episode, talking about feelings, this got so far away from me, this sounds dramatic but it's really not, walt/guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:35:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26189599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brahe/pseuds/brahe
Summary: "I am taking your clothes off," Henry tells him, catching Walt's hazy, wide gaze. A ghost of a smile crosses over Walt's face."Been a while since you said that to me," he says, slow and slurred, but it means Walt's coherent–for now–and Henry huffs, hands already working on Walt's jacket."Yes, well," Henry says, tossing the jacket on the floor in front of the fire. "It would put a damper on that if you died of hypothermia."Or,Henry finds Walt on the mountain, and everything that happens after.
Relationships: Walt Longmire/Henry Standing Bear
Comments: 9
Kudos: 44





	deep into my head, underneath my ribs

**Author's Note:**

> i watched unquiet mind 4(?) days ago and immediately started working on this. this is the third or fourth version of it, but im most happy w this one. this started out as me having feelings abt how walt had found theo half moon only to lose him to wayne, but then it turned into this whole mess
> 
> is it a little ooc? maybe, since walt and henry have a real conversation abt their feelings and walt says more than 10 words, but they needed to talk things out and that's what im here for
> 
> everything i know abt hypothermia came from tv shows and a quick google. i am but a simple language major who knows nothing of medicine, so pls don't consider this as any kind of treatment guide
> 
> towson is a dick in this and lowkey racist/sexist but he annoyed me so. im also kinda mean to branch but i was pissed at him for all of s2
> 
> title from bay of pigs by rogue valley. playlist included that and 1984 by night traveler but was mostly work song by hozier

An orange jumpsuit makes a sharp contrast in white snow and brown trees, and the moment Henry spots it, he urges his horse to a quick trot. 

It's the convict, Wayne, and Henry knows he's dead without having to check. _Walt, where is–_

 _There_. Henry can't tell if he's dead or not from here, too much of his skin covered. He's off his horse before he's aware of it, boots crunching in thick snow as he all but runs to Walt.

"'s he dead?" Branch asks, rather emotionless, and Henry doesn't answer, _won't_ answer, until he _knows_ –

"Not yet," Walt says, low and rough, looking up slow, and Henry's never been so glad to hear his voice, nor so ready to kill him. 

Henry watches Walt's gaze linger on Branch for the moment it takes to sink his point, and then those eyes, pale as the sky above them and so, so beautiful, are settling on Henry, crinkling at the edges in a way Henry's come to take for granted. 

Henry thinks maybe he should say something, break this heavy silence, but it's come in and settled around them, quick as the snow – and there's nothing he has to say right now that doesn't sound like _Walt, you absolute idiot_ – so he closes the space between them, instead, and crouches down beside Walt. He rests his hand over Walt's leg, on his thigh just above his knee, and the coldness that seeps into his palm lights a small fire of panic under his skin. 

"Henry," Walt says, still looking at Henry, and now that Henry's closer, he can see the redness in Walt's exposed skin, the cloudiness in his eyes overwhelming the clarity as his adrenaline fades. Walt sways a little, like he can't decide if he wants to lay his head back against the tree stump or fall into Henry's shoulder. "Henry," he repeats. "You're real this time," he says, asking the question in the way he does when he knows he's right, or when he doesn't want to know he's wrong, "aren't you."

Henry squeezes his hand on Walt's leg and swallows down every feeling that rises in his chest. "Yes," he says, shaking his head, eyes on Walt's. "Yes, I am real." 

Walt's body deflates immediately, and his blinks lengthen. "That's good," he says, sounding much further away than just a moment before, and Henry's insides are knots of so many more kinds of fear and relief than he ever figured there could be. "That's good." 

He reaches for Walt's face without really thinking about it, slides his fingers along the ice-cold roughness of Walt's jaw until he's holding it in his palm. "Oh, my dear," Henry exhales, equal parts fond and sad. "My foolish heart, what have you done?" 

Walt turns his face into Henry's palm, white-blue lips brushing warm skin, his eyes closed. He tilts forward, seeking Henry's body heat, and Henry catches him easily when he collapses into Henry's chest, his hat falling off the back of his head and into the snow.

"'m sorry," Walt murmurs, half lost in the fabric of Henry's jacket. Henry brings his free hand to the back of Walt's head, fingers threading easily in chilled hair, and holds Walt to him. He turns his face into Walt's temple, nose in his hairline, and presses a long kiss to Walt's pale, cold skin, squeezing his own eyes closed for a moment against an onslaught of emotion.

He pushes them away almost as quickly as they came, and he remembers their audience, and the hypothermia Walt is no doubt facing.

"Come on," he says, "or you will freeze to death." He pulls away, making to stand, and startles when Walt whines softly and leans after him, nearly keeling over.

It's easy to catch him, and his hands roam over the wet fabric of Walt's jacket, which he hadn't noticed before. This is much worse than he realized, and a renewed fear begins to bite at his heels.

"I am not leaving you, Walter," Henry says, soft, into his hair, holding the back of his head again. "I am simply trying to get you up out of the snow and onto my horse. Can you do that?" 

Henry stands slower this time, keeping his hands on Walt as they go. He holds Walt tight to his side once they are both on their feet, supporting most of Walt's weight as his knees wobble, threatening to give out, and his body shakes so bad Henry knows that he can't walk on his own. 

When Henry feels he has a strong enough hold on Walt to keep him standing, he looks to find Branch, who has been looking over Wayne's body and the scene around them.

"Help me with the horse," Henry says, and then, when he catches it from the corner of his eye, "and the hat." 

Branch moves quickly, grabbing Walt's hat from the snow before he takes the reins of Henry's horse, leading her closer to where he and Walt are making slow progress.

Getting into the saddle presents a rather daunting challenge, and Henry shakes Walt's shoulder.

"Walt, I need you to help me get you onto the horse," Henry tells him, shaking him again when Walt's eyes flutter. "Walter." 

"Hm, yeah," Walt grumbles, and Henry meets Branch's wide, concerned gaze.

"Hold her still," Henry instructs Branch, who nods once, sharp, and then Henry turns back to Walt. 

He pushes him away, off his shoulder, and ignores the way Walt reaches for him with clumsy, lethargic hands, the quiet sound Walt makes, despite the way it clenches in his chest.

"Walter, my heart," Henry directs. "The horse."

Walt's leaning heavy on Henry and the horse, and he can't tighten his hands enough to truly grasp anything, but he shakes his head, hard, and Henry watches him focus on the task, dredging up the last of the energy he has.

He stumbles, and he struggles, but Walt manages a good enough grip on the saddle that Henry can hoist him the rest of the way up. 

As soon as he's up, he lists heavily to the side, and Henry's quick to grasp onto him and hold him steady. He's still holding onto Walt's waist as he turns back to Branch.

"We will ride down to Omar's cabin," Henry tells him. He knows Walt won't make it if they try to go all the way down now. "We passed near it on the way up. From there we should be able to contact the others."

"Yeah," Branch nods, gaze sliding to Walt's slumped form. "Yeah, okay." He lets go of Henry's horse and grabs at his. "I'll ride ahead and make sure there's a fire on." 

Henry knows there will be a fire on – had seen the smoke trail from the chimney earlier that morning – but it gives Branch something to do, and it gives Henry the privacy he wants with Walt, so he simply waves as Branch sets off at a trot into the woods.

It's quick work to swing himself over the saddle behind Walt, and while it's less quick to get the both of them settled securely enough to ride, Walt is plyable and loose-limbed, and goes where Henry maneuvers him. 

Henry molds himself around Walt and as soon as they start off, Walt folds into Henry's chest, curling into himself and resting his weight entirely on Henry, his face tucked into the side of Henry's neck, nose like an icicle on Henry's skin. 

"You foolish, foolish cowboy," Henry says, brushing his lips over the icy tip of Walt's ear. "If something has happened to you, I will kill you myself."

He feels more than hears Walt's weak answering laugh. "I knew you'd come get me," Walt tells him, muffled and slurred and barely louder than the crunch of snow under horse hooves. Walt's gloved hands curl lightly around the arm Henry had laid across Walt's chest, and he settles heavier into Henry's embrace. "You showed me how to find them," Walt continues, talking like he's not quite aware that he's doing it. "And I knew you'd find the broken twig. And me. Martha was right. You always find me," Walt sighs, and Henry holds him a little tighter.

"Always," he agrees with a lingering kiss to Walt's forehead; a promise, whether or not Walt is present enough to hear or understand it. 

———

Omar's cabin is alight with a warm gold glow by the time Henry arrives outside. Luckily, too – Walt had fallen silent and sleepy some twenty minutes ago, and Henry pretends he didn't see the owl watching them through the forest. 

Branch meets them off the porch, offering to help carry Walt's weight, but the way Walt's pressed against Henry's side makes it rather counter-productive, so Henry sends him to tie off his horse instead.

Omar is in the small living area, his leg bandaged and propped up where he sits in front of a large fireplace, and he looks over as Henry hobbles in.

"Oh, good, he's not dead," Omar says, and Henry grimaces.

"No, not yet," he says, "although he sure gave it his best attempt."

"Go ahead to the bedroom," Omar tells him with a wave towards one of the two open doorways at the back of the cabin. "The fire in there's been on for a while, and there's extra logs in the corner. There's some extra clean clothes laid out on the dresser. Branch has talked to Vic already, they're working on sending a chopper."

Henry nods, grateful, and steers Walt towards the room. It's then that he notices the woman on the floor, handcuffed to a leg of the heavy iron table at the far side of the room. She's watching them, her face mostly in shifting shadow, and Henry turns a raised eyebrow to Omar, who simply shrugs. 

"Well, let me say I am grateful for the luxury guest package," Henry says, and Omar laughs.

"Don't worry, the dining room floor is just for people who shoot at me." 

Henry processes Omar's leg bandage and makes to stop, but Omar waves him off.

"Just a little blood, Henry," he says, "I'll be alright."

Branch comes back in, then, shaking the snow off his coat, and Omar jerks his head towards him. "'sides, I got backup. Go make sure the Sheriff survives the next hour." 

Henry nods at Omar, then Branch, then shuffles Walt into the bedroom and closes the door behind them.

———

The bedroom is warm, and heats up further, faster, with the door closed. Walt had stopped shivering sometime before Henry found him, he figures, so he pushes him towards the edge of the bed in front of the fireplace.

"I am taking your clothes off," Henry tells him, catching Walt's hazy, wide gaze. A ghost of a smile crosses over Walt's face.

"Been a while since you said that to me," he says, slow and slurred, but it means Walt's coherent–for now–and Henry huffs, hands already working on Walt's jacket. 

"Yes, well," Henry says, tossing the jacket on the floor in front of the fire. "It would put a damper on that if you died of hypothermia."

Walt stays quiet as Henry works, drifting in and out of awareness. His socks are soaked through, and there's flakes of ice that fall from his jeans as Henry moves him. Henry hisses when he works Walt's belt buckle, the metal burning cold on his bare fingers, and he wonders again how Walt is still alive.

Walt doesn't help, but he responds to Henry's pushes and pulls, his arms heavy but pliant as Henry works his shirts off, shifting his hips when Henry tugs off his jeans and boxers.

He curls forward when the wet, cold clothes are gone, towards Henry and the fire. Henry catches his head on his shoulder where he's kneeling at the foot of the bed, holding the back of Walt's head with a wide hand.

It takes Henry a moment to realize Walt is talking, mumbling with his breaths.

"'m sorry, 'm sorry, 'm sorry," he's saying, over and over and over. Henry shifts, pushing Walt off his shoulder to hold the sides of his face, flicking his eyes between Walt's own distant, half-lidded ones.

"What are you sorry for, Walt?" Henry asks, rubbing his thumbs over Walt's cheekbones. Walt starts shaking his head. 

"I didn't even tell him," Walt says, eyes searching the room, unseeing. "He was there, he kept being there, and I didn't tell him, I didn't tell him 'm sorry, I didn't."

"Did not tell who?" Henry asks, keeping his voice soft. "Who did you see?" 

"It's my fault he's dead, it's my fault, it's all my fault–" Walt's voice breaks and he falls forward again, a silent sob shaking his shoulders.

Henry's heart strangles in his chest, but again he stamps it down, and stands slowly, Walt's head sliding from his shoulder to his stomach.

"Shh, my heart," Henry murmurs, fingers in Walt's hair, holding him to him.

Walt's arms find their way around Henry's waist, hands fisted loosely in Henry's shirt, still mumbling, "'s my fault, my fault." 

Henry smooths a hand over Walt's head as he thinks – Walt's fault that _who_ is dead? The convict, maybe, but Henry knows Walt well enough to know that whatever guilt he might feel over that is small, if any. 

He remembers, then, what Branch told him on the ride up, about the body they recovered, the missing boy – Theo Half Moon – and everything makes a little more sense. 

" _Oh_ , my dearest," he sighs, running his hand over Walt's head again and swallowing his reassurances. Experience tells him they are unwanted. 

He carefully urges him away after a moment. Walt whines the same as before, high and thin, tries and fails to tighten his hands at Henry's waist.

"It is time to get into the bed, Walt," Henry tells him. "I am not going anywhere." 

Walt looks up at him, cheeks shining in the firelight, eyes red-rimmed and lost, and Henry is only just a man, weak and afraid and so in love with him. He moves his other hand so he's cupping Walt's face, tilting him back, and then leans down to kiss him, a slow, gentle press of lips, warm and cool. 

Walt follows him when he pulls away, but his body is too slow to catch him as he moves. Henry rubs his thumb over the sticky skin of Walt's cheekbone. "Bed, Walter." 

Walt lets Henry go, lets him guide him up the mattress and under the sheets. He watches with hazy interest as Henry takes off his own shoes, then his shirt, then his pants, folded and stacked neatly next to the pile of the dry clothes on the dresser.

"Henry," he says, soft and low. "Henry." 

Henry climbs under the blankets beside Walt, shifting as Walt immediately curls into him, head over Henry's heart, and he settles an arm around Walt's shoulders.

With his other hand, Henry finds the fingers of the hand Walt's rested on his chest, sliding his own through them and lifting their joined hands. Walt's skin is broken, red and irritated, and while they'll hurt for some time, Henry expects he'll recover. Hopes. 

He brings their hands to his mouth, holding Walt's to his lips in a long press.

"Henry," Walt murmurs, and Henry sighs.

"Go to sleep, Walt," he says. "It is alright, I will be here." 

Walt hums, and his weight grows heavier at Henry's side. “Love you,” he says, soft and sleepy and half-formed. Henry sighs again and holds Walt a little tighter. 

“Sleep, Walter.”

———

Henry wakes to the sound of distant helicopter blades. He suspects it hasn't been more than forty-five minutes or so – he feels groggy in the way short naps always leave him. 

Walt is still asleep half on top of him, his skin not as icy as it was on the horse, but still much too cold. Henry is, for a moment, overwhelmingly glad the helicopter is on the way.

"Walter," Henry says softly, gently shaking Walt's shoulder. "Walter, wake up." 

Walt grumbles, rolling half over further into Henry's side. Henry can't help the fond smile that flutters briefly over his face; Walt's always been hard to wake. 

"Walter."

"Le'me 'lone," Walt mumbles, pressing his nose into Henry's chest. "Tired."

Henry sighs, though it's fond. He cards his fingers slowly through Walt's hair. "I know you are," he says. "But the helicopter is coming, and you need to get dressed."

Walt just settles further in, so Henry begins the slow process of extracting himself from Walt's grip. Once he's out of the bed, he pulls the quilts off Walt, who immediately curls up around himself with a quiet sound of protest.

"Oh, Walt," Henry sighs. He's still too cold; Henry had doubted a half hour or so would be enough to warm Walt back up, but a part of him had hoped that maybe he'd start shivering, at least. 

No such luck. 

"I cannot believe you," Henry mutters to himself, rubbing at his forehead as he gets the pile of dry clothes from the dresser, putting his own back on quickly. "Well, actually, I can believe you, but that does not make it better."

He comes to stand next to where Walt's curled up on the bed and gently squeezes his shoulder. "Okay, Walt, time to get dressed."

Getting him into clothes goes about the same as getting him out did, and Henry has just gotten him into a pair of sweats when Walt sits up suddenly, looking up at Henry, eyes wide and a strange kind of cloudy-focus. "Henry," he says, as if he's just realized Henry's there with him. "Henry, I didn't–I didn't mean for anything to happen, I was just–"

Walt takes a shuddering breath, and then he's crying again, and Henry feels like the planet has been pulled out from under him, like the universe has twisted itself around; Henry can count the number of times he's seen Walt cry, and every time it feels _wrong_.

"Walt?"

"The doors were locked, I swear," Walt says, desperate, holding his knees to his chest. "I was just–I was just getting the report from the manager, I was coming right back, I _was_ –" 

Henry reaches for Walt, hands over his, across his knees, his shoulders, up into his hair. "Dear heart, _what_ are you talking about?"

Walt shakes his head. "It's my fault, I shouldn't have left him in the truck, I should've–" He shifts, grabbing onto Henry's arms, looking at him. "I had him, Henry, I had him, I _had_ him, and now–" He chokes back a sob, buries his face in his hands, and Henry stares at him. 

He's delusional, no doubt, but there's a deep conviction in his words, and Henry wonders what on earth he could be talking about, until–

"Theo Half Moon," Henry breathes, the realization punching the air out of his lungs as Walt takes a deep, loud inhale.

"I had him, Henry," Walt tells him again, collapsing against the headboard, drained. "I had him." 

" _Walt_ ," Henry says, sitting on the edge of the bed and gathering Walt into his arms. "My heart, why did you not tell me?" 

Henry decided a long time ago that he would share Walt's heartaches, for when Walter Longmire breaks his heart, he shatters it, and someone has to put him back together again. 

He doubts Walt will answer, and that he'll get the full story out of him like this – or maybe ever – and he's right. Walt simply lets himself be held, breath shivering in and out of his lungs, the bare skin of his back cool against Henry's palms. 

In the quiet, Henry figures the helicopter must be close, if it's not already here; the blades sound like an angry windstorm, echoing dully in the snowy mountain. 

He expects it when the door opens, Branch standing in the doorway. Henry meets his gaze, watches Branch take in him and Walt and _him and Walt_ , and says nothing.

"FBI's here," Branch tells him. "There's a clearing a few yards from here that they're putting the helicopter down in, but they don't want to stay long."

Henry knows the snow in the mountains, and the pilot likely knows it better, and he agrees.

"How many can they take?" 

"Two or three, I think," Branch tells him. Whether or not Branch has a plan of how their evacuation is going to go, Henry knows what will happen. He can have someone come retrieve his horses later. 

Henry shifts Walt onto the bed so he can stand. "Get Omar to the helicopter," Henry tells Branch. "We'll be there in a moment." 

He can feel Branch's eyes on his back as he gets Walt into a shirt and a sweatshirt, and he doesn't leave until Henry moves to collect Walt's now drier jacket from the floor. They can come back for the rest of it. 

He shrugs into Walt's jacket and comes back to the edge of the bed, where Walt blinks heavily at him. 

"Time to go, Walt," Henry tells him, and Walt comes easily when Henry tugs him up, listing heavily into him. 

Henry grabs Walt's hat from the clothes rack on the way out the door, settling the worn felt and leather on his own head. 

Leaving the cabin is easier than entering it was, now that Walt's blood has had some time to warm, but they're still slowed by Walt's exhaustion and inconsistent awareness. 

The helicopter is a short walk from the porch, and Branch meets them halfway.

"Stay with the girl," Henry says, before Branch can speak. He watches Branch flick his eyes to the badge on Henry's borrowed jacket, to the brim of his borrowed hat.

He expects Branch to protest, and for a moment it looks like he will, but instead he squares his shoulders, tilts his chin, and disappears back to the house. 

"Almost there, Walt," Henry murmurs when Walt presses himself closer to Henry's side, telling either Walt or himself, he does not know. "Almost there." 

Vic is waiting for them at the helicopter's side door, and Henry sees her relief as clearly as the sky as she helps him get Walt into the cab.

"Careful," Henry says to her, quiet, and she looks at him. "We are not in the clear just yet." 

The helicopter is an average civilian size, an AStar, Henry suspects, especially as a mountain rescue. There's three seats across the back, and two are occupied already, by Omar and one of the FBI agents from the station.

Henry glances at Vic, who shrugs as she climbs into co-pilot. He turns to the cab.

"You," he says. "Out."

The agent looks at Omar, who looks back with a small, smug smile. "He sure ain't talking to me." 

The agent jerks his attention to Henry, where he stands at the open door, hand still on Walt's back, halfway into the cab. 

"You can't kick me off," the agent says. Henry raises an eyebrow. "I'm a federal agent!" 

Henry says nothing, just finishes getting Walt into the cabin. Walt still hasn't started shivering, and Henry's patience is very, _very_ thin. 

"You're not even a real deputy," the agent continues, "you can't do anything!"

"I am, actually," Henry tells him. The agent looks to Omar, who shrugs, and then to Vic, who leans back over in the space between the pilot seats.

"He is," she confirms, though Henry doubts she knows it's true. "Get out of the helicopter." 

The agent sputters, looking between the four of them, and then Omar reaches across him to open the pilot door.

"Go on, then." 

The agent takes another moment to stare at them, before Omar starts sliding over, and he finally makes to get out. 

"Agent Towson will be hearing about this," he says, an empty threat at most, and Omar pulls the door shut after him. 

He leans across the middle seat towards Henry. "Welcome aboard," he says with a satisfied grin, and Henry flashes him one of thanks. 

"Keep going, Walt," Henry says softly, stepping into the cab as he gently pushes at Walt's back until he's in the center seat. 

Vic pulls the right-side door closed behind him, and Omar gives the pilot a _back seat ready_. Walt immediately leans to the right, curling his body into Henry's once again. His arms are both wrapped around Henry's left one, and his face ends up between Henry's neck and his chest. 

Henry's left hand settles on Walt's thigh, and he leans his head back against the seat with a heavy sigh. Like he told Vic, they aren't home free yet – Walt's skin is still too cold for Henry to even think about relaxing.

"Henry," Walt murmurs, catching his attention. Henry hums, leaning back forward to hear better. 

"What is it, d–Walt?"

He can see Omar carefully _not_ watching them, and Henry's glad for the starting of the rotors. 

"You didn't say it back," Walt tells him, so quietly Henry almost misses it – but no, he hears him, and this time he knows what Walt is talking about. Of course Walt remembers that. 

Henry opens his mouth, thinking of a way to respond to him here, with this audience, but the rotors are suddenly a dull thunder, and they're lifting off the mountain. Henry sets a headset carefully over Walt's ears, saved from responding by the lack of headset mics and Walt's sudden sleep-heavy weight. 

He shifts Walt so he's laying down half across Henry's lap, left hand settling into the hair around his headset band. He fidgets with the soft strands of Walt's hair under his fingers, and for a moment he simply watches Walt's chest shift with his breaths, deep and slow with sleep. 

He exhales, long and low, and leans back against the seat again, gaze drifting to the window and the rolling white landscape running by outside. 

———

The helicopter lands at the hospital, and there's two stretchers waiting for them. The rotors are still slowing down when the medical staff rush in, pulling open the pilot and co-pilot doors quickly.

"Who's who?" one of the medics calls over the wind, looking over the cab.

Omar is already halfway out of the helicopter as he answers. "I'm GSW," he shouts, and there's two medics beside him suddenly, helping him to and onto the stretcher.

"Hypothermia?" the medic says to Henry, glancing down to Walt, and Henry nods. 

Henry takes Walt's headset off carefully as the medics roll the stretcher to the door, now that the rotors have stopped. Henry's in the way, he knows, and they're waiting for him to move, but – but moving means letting go of Walt, and it takes him a moment to work up the nerve.

As soon as he's out of the helicopter, Walt's waking up, groggy and confused and still too cold, and Henry's guided to the side, out of the way. 

"I need BP and body temp," a medic says as another secures Walt in the stretcher. 

Walt's looking around, eyes wide, and Henry wants to go to him, to comfort him–

"'nry," Walt says, mumbles, really, nearly lost in the sounds around them. Henry hears it, though, and he has to curl his hands into fists to stop from reaching for Walt. 

"Are you Henry?" a medic asks him, and it takes a moment for him to tear his gaze away from Walt.

"I am," Henry confirms as the stretcher team starts moving. The medic waves him along.

"Walk with me," she says, and they fall into step behind Walt. "You're the one who found him?" 

"Yes," Henry says. "He was on the mountain, probably around twelve thousand feet." 

"How long?" 

Henry hums. "He went out last night," he tells her, "right as the snow started." 

"Is that what he was wearing?" she asks, and Henry shakes his head. 

"No, these are new. His clothes were wet when I found him. More wet than from snow."

Henry hasn't let himself think too hard about how damp Walt's clothes had been, but the knowledge sits heavy in a beat of silence between him and the medic.

"Was he dressed for the storm?" 

Henry scoffs. "Of course he was not," he says, and shakes his head. "No, he was wearing jeans and a coat. Omar tells me he took snow shoes and work gloves when he came through a few hours into the night." 

They're inside the hospital now, and the medic stops Henry before a set of doors as Walt is pushed through them. 

"Does he have any family we need to notify? Do you know who his proxy is?" 

This whole situation hits Henry, finally, right here, right now, and hits him _hard_. He takes a deep breath that shakes his shoulders, and he rubs at his eyes.

"I will call her," Henry tells her, already fishing for his phone. "His proxy–" he starts, then stops. He doesn't know, not anymore. "I do not know."

The medic nods. "Thanks," she says. "You can wait here, if you like, and we'll update you when we can." 

Henry nods at her, sees her leave from the corner of his eye. He feels like he's separate from his body, vision blanking out at the edges. The realization that Walt could die has settled in around him suddenly, and for a moment it's all he can do to remember how to breathe. 

There's a row of chairs on the wall behind him, and he half stumbles his way there, collapsing into the seat. 

His phone is digging into his hand, bringing him back to the present enough to think, _Cady_. He fumbles with the device as he dials her number, the ringing sound too sharp, too loud. 

She answers on the fourth ring. " _Henry?_ " 

"Yes," Henry says. He's surprised she answered, and he thinks about how to say this in a way that hurts least. "I am at the hospital."

" _Oh my god, are you okay? What's going on?_ " 

"I am not here for me," Henry tells her, and listens to the silence as she processes. 

" _Oh, Christ._ " She pauses, and the background sounds fade out. " _What's he done now?_ " 

"Just the usual," Henry says, heavy with sarcasm – it's that, or fear, and if he can't keep it together for himself, he can do it for Cady. "Walter decided to hike up a mountain in the snowstorm last night after an escaped serial killer." 

" _I'm gonna kill him_ ," Cady says, mostly to herself. " _What happened?_ " 

"He is hypothermic," Henry tells her, and takes a breath. "Cady, I do not know–" 

" _Don't even finish that sentence, Henry,_ " Cady says. " _Don't. I can't._ "

Henry sits in silence again, listening to Cady's breathing. 

" _Okay. I'm coming back, but I won't be there for a few days. Do you need anything?_ " 

"No," Henry says. He debates asking her about Walt's proxy, but decides against it. It's probably her, anyway. 

" _Okay,_ " Cady says on a sigh. " _Okay. Christ,_ Henry–" 

"Cady," Henry cuts her off. "Breathe. Be safe, cub." 

" _Yeah_ ," she says, " _yeah, okay. I'll see you soon,_ " she tells him, and ends the call. 

Henry lets his hand fall to his lap, and looks to the clock on the far wall, face drawn. 

———

Vic arrives about an hour later. Henry hadn't even realized she never came into the hospital – but he realizes how, her voice carrying down the hall just as well as Agent Towson's. 

"I swear to god, I will punch you again," Vic says as they come into the waiting room. "Don't even try me."

"Assault on a federal officer, _twice_?" Towson says. "That would look pretty bad, don't you think?" 

"Ah," Henry says, drawing attention to himself. "Vic, welcome back."

Vic turns to him. "Walt?" 

"Still in recovery," Henry tells her. "I have not heard anything." 

"You must be Henry Standing Bear," Towson says, interrupting, low and a little mean. Henry squares his stance.

"Yes, we met at the station. How can I help you?" 

"Where is the Sheriff? Where's the prisoner?" he asks. "Where's my agent?" 

Henry shares a look with Vic. "As I said, Walt is still in recovery. Your agent graciously offered to stay behind with Branch to help look after the woman from the diner," he explains. "And Wayne is dead." 

"Dead?" Towson repeats, thrown for a moment, but he recovers quickly. "Did Longmire kill him?" 

Henry frowns. "The mountain killed him," he says. "Skin only turns that blue in the snow." 

"What happened to Agent Brooks?" 

"I do not know," Henry tells him. "I did not see her body where we found Wayne and Walt." 

Towson looks furious. "And you didn't think to _look_!" 

A nurse comes into the room then, saving Henry from responding in a way that likely would've ended in jail time. She takes in the room, her gaze falling on Henry. 

"Henry Standing Bear?" she asks, and Henry nods. 

"That is me." 

"Excuse me, I need to talk to the Sheriff," Towson says, already moving forward. "I'm Agent To–" 

"I'm sorry, he's still in recovery," the nurse cuts him off. "Family only." 

Towson stares at her for a moment before he turns with a growl. "Fucking–hicks," he mutters. "You're _all_ obstructing a murder investigation, is that what you want?" 

"Can you do anything besides ask questions?" Vic asks, giving him a nasty grin.

"Who has been murdered?" Henry asks, deepening the lines of his false frown. "I thought this was a search and rescue." 

"That's enough," Towson decides, and he moves forward, pushing the nurse out of the way. 

The moment his hands touch her arms, Vic's gun is in her hand, and Henry has the man by his collar. 

"I don't think so," Vic says, holstering her weapon in order to grab at Towson's arms. She hauls him back further into the room, and dumps him into one of the waiting chairs with a ziptie around his wrists. 

"Every single one of you is going to jail," Towson spits, but Vic just shakes her head.

"Sorry, you just assaulted a civilian, unprovoked. Did you see that, Henry?" 

Henry crosses his arms in a way he knows highlights the badge on Walt's jacket. "I sure did," he agrees. "A very bad move." 

"Excuse me, deputies," the nurse injects. "Mr. Standing Bear, if you could come with me, please," she says. "There's some paperwork we need you to fill out." 

Henry shares a look with Vic, her eyes wide. 

"Is he ok?" she asks, panic carefully concealed from her voice. The nurse nods quickly. 

"Oh, yes, I'm sorry! Yes, he's doing alright. We started him on hemodialysis as soon as you arrived and his body temperature is rising steadily. He should be back in normal range in the next hour or two." 

Vic lets out a breath, resting her hands on her knees for a moment. "Christ," she says, "I can't believe he survived that." 

_Me and you both,_ Henry thinks. 

"The paperwork, Mr. Standing Bear," she reminds him, and he furrows his brows. 

"Are you sure?" 

"Yes," she says, with a little laugh, "I'm quite sure. His proxy is Henry Standing Bear, and that's you, right?" 

_Huh._ "Yes, that is me," Henry agrees. He looks at Vic, who shrugs. 

"He's been asking for you, whenever he wakes up," she tells him as they head for the door. "I'm sure he'll be glad to see you." 

"Hold on," Towson calls at the nurse, "you said family only!" 

Henry looks back at him from the doorway. "I am family." 

———

Walt wakes up slowly and then all at once, blinking quickly and taking a deep breath. He peers at the ceiling, blurry and white as his eyes adjust. There's a weight on his left arm, and he rolls his head to the side to investigate.

"Henry," he says, relieved, and Henry's head immediately pops up, his arm moving off Walt's. 

"Finally," Henry says. "Took you long enough." 

"What happened?" Walt asks, and Henry frowns.

"You do not remember running out in a snowstorm without proper equipment? At night? By yourself? Hiking up a mountain, chasing a serial killer?" 

Walt huffs. "Yeah, yeah, okay, I remember all that," he says. "What's happened since we got here?" 

"Well, they spent four hours raising your body temperature back into survivable range and addressing the frostbite injuries you incurred. Agent Towson has been harassing the hospital staff for about three of those hours, and Vic had threatened him with violence at least six times."

Walt nods slow. "How's Omar? And the waitress?" And before Henry can start, he asks, "Agent Towson?" 

_Typical Walt_ , Henry thinks as he says, "Omar is fine. The bullet did not hit anything too important. I have not seen the waitress since we left Omar's cabin, but I left her with Branch and one of the FBI agents. Agent Towson is the one in charge of them." 

"Oh. Good," Walt says, settling back into the pillows. "That's good." He pauses, his eyes fluttering. "Jacket looks good on you," he adds after a moment. His eyes are barely open, but there's something sly in the slight uptick of his mouth. 

"Of course it does," Henry says. He and Walt are about the same size, but the jacket is still too big for him, loose on his narrower shoulders and shorter arms. 

He fiddles with the hem of one sleeve as he looks over Walt, the extra blankets on the bed and the bandages across his body. "If you ever do something like that again, I will kill you myself," he adds, keeping his tone light. 

Walt sees through him easily, but still at least gives him a huff of a laugh. "Yeah," he agrees, "that's fair."

They sit in silence for a moment, and then Henry falls forward, forehead landing on the edge of the bed with a great release of air. He says nothing, just listens to the mechanical sound of Walt's heartbeat, focuses on the faint warmth radiating from his leg. 

Walt shifts his hand to bury it in Henry's hair, rubbing a few strands of it between his fingertips. 

"Please do not do something like that ever again," Henry says softly, face pressed in the hospital sheets. 

Walt gently pushes at the back of Henry's head until he rolls over onto his ear, looking up at Walt. 

"I'm sorry," Walt tells him, quietly. "I thought–well, I thought a lot of things." 

Henry reaches a hand for Walt's arm, lightly curling his fingers around it. 

"You do not have to prove anything," Henry tells him. "Not to Branch, not to this county," he says. "Especially not to Cady, and especially not to me." 

Walt's face shifts, and Henry knows he's hit it on the head. Walt takes a breath, and it's shaky when he exhales. 

"Henry," he says, "I've been a terrible father." 

"Walt–" 

"No, I have," Walt interrupts. "It's my fault she left town. I just wanted to protect her, and now she hates me." 

Walt brings his free hand up to his face, holding his thumbs to his eyes, and his breath hisses through his teeth. Henry really, _really_ hates seeing him cry. 

"Walt," Henry says gently, sitting up and shifting so he's holding Walt's hand to his heart. "Walt, she does not hate you." 

"You don't know that." 

"I do, actually," Henry tells him, waiting to continue until Walt looks at him. "She came to me, once, when she was in high school. I asked her why she was with me instead of at home, and she said you two had gotten into a fight. I do not remember what it was about, now, but I listened as she told me about it, and when she had finished complaining about your stubbornness, I asked again why she had come to find me. She said, _I came to you because you are the only other person I know who fights with him constantly and loves him anyway._ "

Walt's looking at him, lashes damp and clumped, and Henry rubs his thumbs against Walt's skin, back to the usual warmth Henry knows. 

"That is why they call it unconditional, Walt," Henry reminds him. He shifts forward so he can reach Walt's face, wiping at the tear tracks on his cheeks. 

Walt grabs Henry's wrist, his grip loose but stronger than anything he had managed on the mountain. He holds Henry's hand to his face, letting his eyes close for a moment. 

"I don't mean it," Walt tells him, "the fights. With you or Cady. It's just–" He stops, and Henry waits him out, like he always has, lightly thumbing at Walt's cheekbone. "It's just overwhelming, sometimes. How much I love you, and how much it terrifies me that anything could happen." Walt looks him, hand tightening around Henry's wrist, and Henry knows he's just talking about him, now. "How you might finally realize I'm not worth all the trouble." 

Walt's head falls back into the pillows, and Henry brings Walt's hand he'd been holding at his heart up to his lips. "I'm sorry," Walt tells him, "for a lot of things. I'm sorry you're always having to come after me." 

Henry shakes his head. "You do not have to apologize for that to me," he says. "Never to me." 

He shifts, standing for a moment to move from the chair to the edge of the bed. He takes Walt's face between his hands, waiting until Walt looks at him. 

"I do not come after you because I feel like I have to," Henry tells him. "I choose to come after you because I want to. That is what you do for the people you love." 

Henry's expecting it when Walt pushes forward, closing the little distance still between them. His lips are warm and chapped, and there's a desperate edge to the way he kisses, the way he wraps his hands around Henry's wrists. 

Henry is so glad he's alive and he's so, so in love with him, and he squeezes his eyes shut against the onslaught of it all, kisses Walt a little harder. 

Walt's always been a clumsy kisser, enthusiastic, overwhelmed and overwhelming, tactile in this in the way he never lets himself be otherwise, and Henry's always gladly submitted himself to it. Everything from the last twenty-four hours, and the last few months, breaks like a wave in this kiss, makes it slow and sweet and sad, just a little wrecked in the way Walt clings to Henry like a lifeline, the touch of salt between their lips, the hard press of noses to cheekbones. 

Henry vaguely registers the sound of footsteps, and then, "Walt–oh, sorry!" 

Henry pulls away, can't help the way his gaze roams across Walt's face, lips a little swollen, eyes hardly open, little slivers of grey through his lashes. He doesn't let go of Henry's wrists. 

"Vic," Henry says. "Come in, it is alright." 

Henry's still looking at Walt, watches the little, barely-there satisfied smile ghost over his lips, and it isn't until Vic has slowly stepped herself into the room that he loosens his hands on Henry's wrists enough that Henry can lean back, shifting on the edge of the bed. 

"Sorry to interrupt," Vic says, and Walt gives her a faint smile. 

"'s okay," he says. "What's up?" 

"The nurse said you can have visitors, so I just wanted to give you a heads-up on Towson. He'll probably be here any minute," she tells them.

Walt nods. "Thanks, Vic," he says. "You okay?" 

"Am I okay?" she repeats, shaking her head. "Yeah, I'm fine, I'm not the one who spent eleven hours in a snowstorm. Are _you_ okay?" 

"Yeah," he says, and actually sounds like he means it. "Doctor said I'll have to keep my hands wrapped for a while, but I'll be okay." 

"That's good," Vic exhales, hands dropping from her hips. There's a beat of quiet, and Henry watches as a sly smile slowly breaks across her face. 

"So," she says with poorly concealed enthusiasm, shifting her gaze between the two of them. "Pretty sure there's rules about banging your campaign manager. Or banging your candidate. Whichever." 

Henry can't help his surprised laugh, and he covers his grin with his hand when Walt looks at him. 

"Probably," Henry agrees. He debates his next words for half a second. "Good thing we started long before that."

Vic laughs, and Walt groans, overdramatic. 

"Or we could not talk about this," he says, but Henry doesn't miss the little smile on his face. 

A door slams somewhere down the hall, catching their attention. 

"I'm talking to the Sheriff now, whether you like it or not," comes Towson's voice. Henry sighs, and Vic rolls her eyes. 

"Say the word, boss, and I'll deck him again." 

Walt raises an eyebrow. "Again?"

Vic simply shrugs. "Just say the word." 

Henry squeezes Walt's hand once, twice, and makes to move off the bed before Towson arrives, but Walt tugs him back. 

"Stay," he murmurs. "Please." 

Henry glances to the door. "If you are sure," he says, wary. Walt threads his fingers back through Henry's. 

"I've always been sure." 

———

Walt has been home, and awake, for less than twelve hours, and he's already incited Henry's fussing a dozen times. 

The hospital discharged him yesterday morning on the grounds that someone look after him – not that Henry was planning on leaving him be for the foreseeable future, anyway. Walt slept most of the day before, but woke up early this morning, already irritated with his bandages and aches and doctor's orders. 

"Walter," Henry calls, coming from the kitchen, "if you take this bandage off your hand one more time, I will mummify you with it," he promises, picking up the wrap from the floor in the living room on his way to the bedroom. 

Walt's propped up in bed, and he looks up, the picture of false innocence. His right hand is suspiciously bandage-free. 

Henry stands in the doorway, eyebrow raised, until Walt caves. 

"I can't use my hands when they're wrapped up like that," he says, half pleading. Henry had, foolishly, forgotten how horrible a patient Walt could be. 

"Oh, you mean wrapped up like the doctor said? Wrapped up in the way that is going to make sure you regain full use of your fingers? Like that?" 

Walt pouts as Henry makes his way into the room. "You don't have to be so mean about it," he says. 

"Yes I do." Henry sits on the right edge of the bed. "Otherwise you will not listen to me. Give me your hand." 

Walt's still got a sad little dejected look on his face, but he sets his right hand in Henry's outstretched one anyway. 

His skin is still red and irritated. There's places that have scabbed over already, but most of his wounds are still open. Henry holds his hand delicately, rubbing his thumb gently across the inside of Walt's wrist.

"I do not know why you insist on trying to do anything when your hands hurt like this," he says softly, although he does, a little, in the way he knows how Walt is like. He thinks about the last few months and sighs. "But I do not know why you insist on doing a lot of things." 

_Like not asking for help_ , Henry thinks, and keeps his eyes on his task as he slowly rewraps Walt's hand, though he can feel Walt watching him. 

"I should've waited for the storm to pass," Walt says, eventually, quietly.

"Yes," Henry agrees, matching tone. 

"I should've waited for backup." 

"Yes," Henry agrees again. He runs his fingers over the layers of the bandage once he's finished, feather light and slow. 

"I should've apologized to Cady," he adds. "Should apologize." 

"Yes," Henry repeats, and looks up at Walt. "This is not a test, Walt," Henry tells him. "I am not looking for confession."

Walt's eyes are the color of thunderclouds. "But maybe I am," he says. He presses the fingers of his left hand to his eyes. "Christ, Henry, I've made so many mistakes." 

"So has anyone who ever lived a life worth living," Henry says. "Would you judge me for mine?" 

Walt shakes his head immediately, hand falling to his lap. "No, you–" 

"Then you see," Henry interrupts. "If you will not judge me for mine, you cannot judge yourself. We have made many of the same mistakes, if you had forgotten." 

There's an old, faint smile on Walt's lips for a moment, and he half startles Henry when he shifts his right hand, threading his fingers through Henry's. 

"Thank you," he says, quietly. The setting sun had turned the light in the room to gold, and it shines in the greys in Walt's hair, darkens his eyes to a Pacific blue. "For coming to get me."

Henry remembers Walt on the mountain, half frozen to death. He doubts Walt remembers it, but the sentiment is the same now that it was then. 

"Always," Henry repeats, squeezing Walt's hand in his lap. 

"You know," Walt says with false ease, "you still haven't said it back." 

Henry smiles, looking towards the sunset for a moment, then back to Walt. He's always needed more reassurance than most, Henry knows, and Henry's always happy to give it. 

"If I must spell it out for you, Walter Longmire," Henry says, amused and fond in the way Walt always seems to make him, and it shifts the tone, lightens the air around them. Walt smiles back at him, slow and sweet, and Henry's so, so glad he's alive, that they're both alive and here and together.

"I love you, I have loved you, and I will continue to love you," he tells him. "Even if you hike up another mountain in the snow, or ignore me for months, or if you lose the election." 

Walt laughs, then, surprised and sudden; his laughter is always hard-won and so beautifully worth it, every time.

"Yeah, okay," he says, bright and laughing, and he tugs on Henry's hand, pulling him forward until he crashes onto Walt's chest and into a kiss.

Henry supports himself on one elbow, other hand coming to hold the side of Walt's face, kissing back slow, savoring the taste of Walt's gentle happiness. Walt shifts his hands restlessly, like always, around Henry's body, running over his shoulders, down his back, up his sides and into his hair, a cycle of familiar, grounding touches.

Walt's lips are warm, his skin hot, all little things Henry had taken for granted but does not now, sinking into the heat of his mouth, feeling the little fires Walt's fingers leave behind on Henry's skin, where he's rucked up the front of his shirt to get at bare skin. 

Walt kisses like he does everything else, with his full focus and his whole body, the soft pressure of his kisses fueled by a long-stoked smoldering fire of desire–one Henry happily feeds, happily lets consume him. 

"I'm sorry I pushed you away for so long," Walt says, and Henry's half worried he's about to run on another self-guilt tangent, but instead he combs the fingertips of one hand through Henry's hair, eyes bright and honest. "I didn't mean to." 

"I know," Henry says, because he does. He's had a few years to get to know Walt, after all. "I knew you would come back around." 

Walt kisses him again until the air in his lungs is gone. "Your hair's longer," Walt murmurs between them, words nearly pressed into Henry's lips. 

"I know," Henry says with a smile. He knows the answer, but he asks anyway, "Like it?" 

"Yeah," Walt tells him, "but you know that already."

"Yes," Henry agrees, and kisses Walt, dirty but quick. "That does not mean I do not like to hear you say it." 

Walt's laugh is low and quiet, more of an exhale than anything else. "You," he murmurs, shaking his head just a little, and he holds the back of Henry's head when Henry ducks back in to kiss him again, holding on this time, mouth soft and pliant under Henry's. 

"Stay," Walt asks between his kisses, in the little shared air between them, and he bumps his nose against Henry's. Henry noses back. 

"Just the night?" he asks, his smile in his tone, in the way of the next two kisses. Walt fingers at the edges of his hair and his other hand ends up at Henry's waist, hiking up his shirt to settle wide and warm on bare skin. 

Walt hums into another kiss, then another. "Or forever, if you want," he says, almost flippant, but when Henry pushes himself up on his hands, uncertainty is clear in his eyes. 

"Good," Henry tells him, looking back at Walt, letting _his_ certainty shine on his face. "I was planning on forever." 

The bandages on Walt's hands are unfamiliar against his cheeks when he grabs onto the sides of Henry's face to pull him back down, but his kisses still taste the same, like wide blue skies and destiny.

**Author's Note:**

> does the vibe shift in this like 10 times? maybe, but that's between me and the 2am haze in which i wrote this.
> 
> me, outlining the plot: i will sprinkle in the fact that i know abt helicopters  
> (does henry? idk but he knows enough here to recognize an astar) 
> 
> the first version of this has cady meeting henry at the hospital but walt suffered® more w her already out of town so this happened instead. cady is the one who made henry walt's proxy.  
> im also a hoe for pet names and henry calls cady cub sometimes bc he used to do it when she was much younger and called him uncle bear and im taking that headcanon to my grave 
> 
> does the tone change at the end? yeah it does, bc im weak and emotional and i just want them to have some sweet happiness ok


End file.
